


Snow

by kronette



Series: Weather [2]
Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 02:31:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His worried eyes followed his partner as he walked down the hall.  The blond head was bowed over a file as normal, but there was a sinisterness, for lack of better word, that put everyone off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow

**Author's Note:**

> A companion piece to “Rain." Originally posted 1999 under my other pseud, Shelley Wright.

His worried eyes followed his partner as he walked down the hall. The blond head was bowed over a file as normal, but there was a sinisterness, for lack of better word, that put everyone off. It was more than his usual surliness; most agents were beginning to understand the quiet man and weren't put off by his abruptness. But he had watched more than one person walk up to Illya to start a conversation only to walk away with a slight frown on their face. 

His mouth turned down in sympathy. This moodiness had started a few days after he had come into Headquarters and told his partner about the weather report. That night's forecast had called for one to three inches of snow. He had made sure to get into work early to see Illya as soon as he arrived. He doubted that his partner had seen the news, but he seemed to know anyhow. Illya almost always seemed to know when it would snow. He'd almost asked what the Russian's secret was, but knew it would do little good. Illya was still an intensely private man, and Napoleon didn't think he would tell him anyway. But he would bet money that it had something to do with Illya's private excursions. 

The day before he had heard the report, Illya had informed Headquarters he was leaving town for the day. As always, the Russian had limited that information to Mr. Waverly and himself. It hadn't been the first time his partner had called in and then disappeared for the day. His original assumption was that it was to keep the information from reaching Thrush. A lone agent in the field was a target; no matter how well trained. But lately, Napoleon suspected it was to retain his mysterious air around Headquarters. Illya just didn't want people knowing his business, even if he was a spy. Napoleon felt privileged that his partner trusted him enough to tell him where he was going. He only wished he knew what Illya did up there. He always appeared calmer when he returned; maybe that was why he'd offered to go with him. He was supposed to get some downtime himself, but with Waverly out of town, he had duties that superceded everything else. But he couldn't help but make the offer. Now he wished he had gone. Not only was Illya calmer, but this time there was a subtle bounce to his step and a sparkle in those ice blue eyes. And to his surprise, a knowing little smile appeared when he told Illya about the snow. 

However, the snow had held off for the next two weeks, with cold rain being the only thing falling from the sky. Usually, Illya liked rain. Even so, there were occasions when it got to be too much for even him, and he grumped about having to chase Thrush in wet socks. Napoleon usually made cursory teases to his partner about it, because _he_ didn't like running around with wet socks either. But his partner had been quiet the past few days to the point of sullenness. 

Illya's contented smile seemed to be permanently gone as the days stretched toward the beginning of winter with no snow. He had accustomed himself to New York winters, but Illya seemed to thrive in the cold weather. He was more alert if that was possible, and had a bounce to his step, if that were believable. Occasionally it was a toss-up whether Illya would get extremely moody or buoyant. Sometimes he was both within the same snowfall. More often than not, Illya loved the snow. Napoleon could tell; he might be the only one who could tell. Illya grumbled and cursed the sodden mess as much as the next U.N.C.L.E. agent at lunch, but Napoleon was the one who saw Illya just as he was ready to leave Headquarters. Coats, gloves, boots and hats, even for the men, were the staple winter uniform in New York. Illya never bothered with a hat, even when the weather dipped below freezing. Unlike the coats he wore on assignment, Illya's city overcoat was thin and uninsulated as far as he could tell. His gloves were leather, but usually only worn on the coldest of days. An umbrella was unheard of, though most New Yorkers wouldn't step outside without one if so much as one cloud appeared in the sky. Whereas most agents ducked their heads against the blowing snow, Illya met it face-on. It must be his Russian countenance. Napoleon usually had to squint his eyes against the furiously blowing flakes attacking him from all sides. 

He shivered at the remembered feeling. The blinding white swirls of snow whipping around the tall buildings didn't appeal to him. A nice warm fire inside while the wind howled outside was more to his taste. But his partner...his partner. What was he going to do about his partner? Illya was going to start gnawing on lead soon if he didn't do something. 

Was this because it hadn't snowed? Could it be as simple and as difficult as that? It seemed a simple thing, but lack of snow wasn't something he could readily fix. They had destroyed the only weather machine Thrush had created several years ago. However, there was a satellite system in place that could report current weather conditions across the globe. He placed a call to Communication and asked for the results as soon as possible. He only hoped what he wanted wasn't too far away. He mentally prepared what he would say to his partner as he waited. The phone jangled, startling him. He held his breath as he received the report, then smiled. It would require several hours of driving, but it would be worth it. He placed a few more calls to friends and arranged things. Now all he had to do was invent an assignment, drag his partner along, and hope it worked. 

His initial worry increased when Illya didn't question the assignment. The abruptness of it should have set off alarm bells, but Illya hardly batted an eye. He said he would be packed and ready in an hour. Napoleon would meet him in front of his apartment, and they would take off from there. He arrived precisely an hour later in front of Illya's building. His partner was in the doorway, suitcase in hand, cautiously aware of the people walking by. He gave a brief nod as Illya tossed his suitcase in the back and slid into the passenger seat. 

He asked if Illya wanted to drive first. He shrugged and they traded places. Napoleon rested his head against the side window and forced his body to relax. The next thing he knew, Illya was waking him up. His turn to drive. He stretched as they changed places. He tried not to appear anxious, but he wanted Illya to be surprised when they arrived. If he were awake, it would lessen the impact. 

The ground was soggy from the remainder of a snowfall last week. New snow was predicted further north than their present location, but they should be coming up on some soon. He caught the wistfulness in Illya's eyes as he stared out the window. Then as if pained by the sight, Illya laid his head back and closed his eyes. Napoleon relaxed as Illya's breathing slowed to sleep. He continued to drive north, recalling directions he had memorized. The tree-lined road gave way to a thick forest of pine trees, and darkness settled over them as night fell. He slowed down as the road started to twist through the forest, and snowflakes began to dot the windshield. He debated waking Illya now, but after a few minutes, the snow stopped. Hopefully it was merely a preview of what was to come. 

He continued up the winding road until he came to a clearing. He pulled to a stop outside a motel. The rustic wood cabins blended with the forest around them, creating an almost unbroken wilderness. He quietly exited the car and went to check in. He shook hands with the proprietor - and old friend - and went back to the car to wake his partner. 

Illya grumbled a bit, but got his suitcase and followed Napoleon into the double room. The drive had been long and Napoleon was feeling the effects of sitting too long in a car. He stretched a bit, took a quick shower, and went to bed. He was asleep before Illya had unpacked his pajamas. 

~~~

He was shivering. He cracked his eyes open and groaned softly at the still-darkness peeking through the window curtains. Thinking the heater might have broken, he got out of bed and checked. He could feel the heat pouring out of it before he reached the radiator, so he looked around for another source. 

The front door was open. He glanced to the other bed; Illya was gone. Fearful for his partner's life, he grabbed his gun and cautiously poked his head out the door. 

Illya, still in his pajamas, was standing a few steps out from the porch where Napoleon looked on curiously. What was wrong with this picture? Other than the fact that his partner was standing outside in the middle of the night in his pajamas in the falling snow...

Snow. That was it. Napoleon couldn't stop his smile from blooming. Illya was standing completely still, his face tilted up to the sky. There wasn't a sound to be heard, not even the large flakes piling around his partner. A thin layer of snow already covered the ground, and Illya's shoulders looked damp even from this distance. Hating to disturb him, but knowing Illya could catch cold if he stayed like that much longer, he whispered, "Illya. Illya, come inside." 

His partner jumped at the sound of his voice and turned around. "Napoleon!" The bright smile was unlike anything he'd seen on the Russian's face before. "It's snowing!" 

"Yes, it is," he agreed patiently. "But you'd better come inside." He glanced down to Illya's feet, and was horrified at their bareness. "You don't even have slippers on!" 

"I don't?" Illya looked down at his own feet. He looked up at Napoleon and shrugged. "It doesn't matter." 

"It does to me. I didn't bring you all the way up here to get frostbite. Get inside, you stubborn Russian." 

Reluctantly, Illya returned to the warmth of the cabin where Napoleon immediately wrapped a blanket around him. 

"What possessed you to go outside in the middle of the night without getting dressed?" he muttered as he dug out a pair of socks and threw them at his partner.

Illya calmly put them on. "I heard the snow and I had to see it for myself." 

"You heard...snow doesn't make any noises like rain or sleet, Illya. It just falls," he patiently explained, wondering if he should call a doctor. 

"It falls quietly, but it does make a sound. I heard it." A soft smile curved Illya's mouth as he looked to the window. He got up and opened the curtains wide. "I have been waiting two weeks for this. It's a miracle it happened tonight just as we arrived." 

Luckily it was still dark, as Napoleon felt a flush color his face. "Not exactly a miracle. I checked the weather reports this afternoon. Snowfall was predicted for Montpelier. That's why we're here." 

Illya turned away from the window and fixed him with a glare. It was a standard 'what did you just say?' look that settled Napoleon's nerves. Illya was back to being Illya. "I thought we were here because of a Thrush satrap." 

He grinned sheepishly. "Well, I sort of made that up. I didn't think you'd just agree to come up to Vermont with your partner because he thought seeing some snow would cheer you up." 

Illya's expression softened. "You did this for me?" 

"I did it for U.N.C.L.E.," he protested. "You were sniping at everyone who dared to talk to you. Productivity would have dropped if you had continued to alienate everyone in Section II." 

"I was behaving rather badly," Illya mused. "I tried to mask my feelings. I didn't do a very good job, did I?" 

"It was a well-performed act," Napoleon admitted. "But, I know you well enough to know when something is bothering you. It took awhile, but my best guess and my instincts said this was what you needed." 

Illya turned back to the window, placing his hand flat on the cold glass. "And you?" he asked quietly. 

He started. "What about me?"

"You could have sent me here. There was no reason for you to come." 

"It was a long drive. I didn't want you having to take the trip by yourself." He made the excuse, knowing Illya would be able to see right through it. He had the sneaky suspicion that his partner was smiling at him, but his face was turned carefully away. Silence descended between them, until Illya's soft voice interrupted it. 

"It reminds me of my grandmother," he whispered softly as he continued to look out the window. "She thought the first snowfall of winter held special powers. She would stand in it with her face tilted to the sky and let the flakes wash over her. As far back as I can remember, she took me with her. The absolute quiet thundered in our ears, yet each flake had a unique sound as it landed. We never stayed out more than ten or fifteen minutes, but it was still magical. When we came inside, she would pat the flakes into my hair, saying that they dyed it this color. And so to keep it this special color, I had to make sure to stand in the first snowfall of winter every year." The nostalgia left Illya's voice. "She was a superstitious old lady," he remarked quietly. 

"She sounds like a very lovely woman to me," Napoleon answered firmly. "And it sounds like she cared for you a great deal." 

"I remind her of her son," Illya answered softly. "She told me I was a great deal like him." 

Silence settled between the two partners again; Napoleon absorbing what his partner had revealed and Illya continuing to stare out the window. 

He wanted to experience snow as the Russian did. He wanted to feel snowflakes melting on his skin. He wanted that special magic to be special for him. "Do you want to take a walk?" he asked quietly, so if Illya chose to ignore him, he could. 

The gruffness of Illya's voice did little to mask his pleasure. "Only if we get dressed first. I have no intention of nursing you back to health." 

With a smile, Napoleon got dressed.

The End


End file.
